Roadside Burger Place in Portland, Oregon
I can't believe how much we ate
Well. Today's my birthday. I turn fifty-five.
Scott and I were born in the same year 1965.
John Lennon and George Harrison took LSD for the first time that year. Draft card burnings took part at Berkeley. The big Anti War Demonstration marched in Washington D.C. with Joan Baez. Hunter Thompson's (Scott's favorite writer) The Motorcycle Gangs is published in The Nation.
We were born at the height of the counter-culture and we loved it, especially the music revolution during that time. Anytime, we saw 1965 written or mentioned, on a music documentary or program about the counter-culture, we looked at each other smiling saying out loud "1965".
We were sixties babies growing up in the seventies. We ran wild during the day showing up for dinner when the streetlights lit up. Scott explored Donner Lake immersed in nature and rode motorcycles. I took off on buses and by foot exploring the streets of San Francisco.
We understood each other. We knew what it was like to be "free".
For my birthday, my mom brought up bath salts and my sister baked me a pie. I think my baby sister wants to get me a massage when COVID isn't spiking. I could use a massage.
I ordered two books on grief from bookshop.org
I haven't read a book on grief since I worked for the Marin Humane Society in the late 1990s. We studied grief and loss for ourselves and for our clients who brought in their animals for surrender or euthanasia. Back then, we read Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and her breakthrough work on the stages of grief.
I am not so stubborn or stuck in my own spirituality to ignore the new works on grief. I am ready to delve in. I am curious and I am in pain. Two motivating factors to order the books. They will be here by Christmas.
Scott and I did not make a big deal out of celebrations. When we met, we let each other know we didn't like the pressure and stress of buying gifts or planning parties. A trip to the beach and lunch was a perfect gift for either of us.
Today I miss Scott, not because it's my birthday. I miss Scott everyday. I miss Scott more today than yesterday. My missing him grows deeper. I will miss him everyday. Forever.
Scott and I were grateful for every day.
Everyday is special. That's how we lived.
Port Townsend, Washington